Not long ago, a fat patch of
private land lay isolated within the Jemez Mountains, surrounded
mostly by Forest Service land. Though off-limits, many New Mexicans
knew that this place, the Baca Ranch, supported an enormous elk
herd and contained both geological and archaeological wonders.
Today, that 89,000-acre private ranch is better known as
a “public lands experiment.” Bought by the federal government in
2000, it’s now the Valles Caldera National Preserve — so named for
the collapsed volcanic dome within its boundaries — and it’s
run by a board of trustees appointed by the president. These
trustees are charged with setting policy based on advice from the
public and staff scientists, who are studying everything from elk
herds to stream water quality.
As its founding
legislation states, the trust must protect the preserve’s natural
and historic resources, operate as a working ranch and become
financially self-sustaining within 15 years. Those last two
requirements came courtesy of New Mexico Sen. Pete Domenici, R, who
opposes any new public lands in the state.
At its
creation, giddy New Mexicans hoped that the land and its resources
would be preserved and that feuding factions would come together in
support of an experiment closely watched by the rest of the nation.
Most of all, we hoped to finally set foot on the land to hunt, ski,
fish, hike, graze cattle, bike, bird watch or just lollygag.
Six years into the experiment, once-feuding factions are
working together. The Valles Caldera Coalition, formed to support
the creation of the preserve, today consists of more than 40
conservation, recreation and ranching groups. But giddiness has
been mostly replaced by disappointment and even bitterness, as
public access has remained minimal. When trustees opened the
preserve this summer for one day only, thousands of people showed
up, jamming traffic and angering many who’d warned that preserve
staff would be overwhelmed by the pent-up demand.
For its
part, the coalition is increasingly frustrated by the trust and its
lack of long-range planning on issues such as recreation, wildlife,
transportation and fire management. But most of all, the coalition
is worried about the trust’s dismissive attitude toward the public.
“Who is the trust accountable to?” asks coalition coordinator Marty
Peale. “The public? Domenici and the congressional delegation? Mark
Rey?” (the secretary of Agriculture) “Or the White House?”
Thus far, even though the trust has focused most of its
planning efforts on grazing, relations with local ranchers that
were nurtured by the Bill Clinton-era board have eroded under a new
board appointed by President Bush. Last winter, the chair of the
trust, a rancher herself, announced a new approach to grazing that
would bring in more money, though still not enough money to
generate a profit. The trust had allowed local ranchers such as
those from Jemez and Pojoaque pueblos to graze small numbers of
cattle on the caldera while they worked to restore their
rangelands. The new arrangement ended that deal; instead, an
out-of-state rancher would be invited to graze 1,200 steers on the
preserve. This controversial plan fell apart, but not before
causing bad feelings.
Apparently not learning anything
from the dustup, the trust recently announced that any rancher can
bid for grazing privileges next year, when 2,000 head of cattle
will be allowed to graze the Valles Caldera from June through
September. While it’s true that the trust is under pressure to
generate revenue for the preserve, running cattle is not the way to
do it. A 2005 federal report showed that in 2004 alone, the Forest
Service and the Bureau of Land Management lost at least $115
million as a result of their livestock programs. Not only is it
financially unwise, but bringing in large-scale cattle operations
from non-local ranchers also jeopardizes the board’s relationship
with northern New Mexicans. And it betrays those who supported
ranching as a way to forge alliances with local communities.
To be fair, the trust is faced with what seems an
impossible task, thanks to Sen. Domenici’s insistence on multiple
use and financial sustainability. The preserve is nowhere close to
bringing in more money than it spends. It also needs to welcome
back the public by involving local people in planning what happens
on the land. Bill DeBuys, a writer and former chairman of the
trust, says he presided over the trust’s last public meetings,
which were held in 2001.
“In all our public meetings,” he
recalls, “people said to us, ‘The place is great as it is, so don’t
screw it up.’ ” Five years later, that still seems like good
advice.
Laura Paskus is a contributor to
Writers on the Range, a service of High Country
News (hcn.org). She is a freelance reporter in
Albuquerque, New Mexico.
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